They are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful

5 years ago, I anticipated, that by this point in our lives we'd be on the brink of returning from a 4 year term in Kenya. Our lives would be revolving around taking the gospel to the nations, building relationships with nationals, living among the people and serving them with open arms and glad hearts so that they experience Jesus in me.

Back then, I would have never imagined our life would look like it does today. After all, we were chasing hard after God, He was guiding us to this foreign land. It was bound to transpire just as my perfect, little brain could propose it to be.

And then, loss.

Grief.

Disappointments.

Financial setbacks.

Broken family relationships.

Pain.

Wrestling.

I have doubted my God on every level. I've begged to walk away, tried even. I've searched the scriptures for evidence that this God I devoted myself to is on a power trip and decided to wreck my life just for fun.

I've watched my children grow, as a shell of their mother attempts to shepherd them toward a God that she's uncertain of herself. I've cussed Him out, shut Him out, turned and refused to talk or listen. I've been at a place where I wondered if I was seriously delusional and if I dreamed up this whole missions thing because it was trendy, sounded fun and looked like it made us a better version of ourselves.

In every aspect of our lives over the last 3 years we've been broken. I've spilled tears over the simplest of things and shook my fist at God from the darkest parts of my heart. I've turned bitter, angry and spiteful.

Who needs God anyway? I mean, really. What kind of a God loads your whole family onto a rug called obedience then jerks the damn thing right out from under you? Not any God I want to follow, that's for sure.

The arrogance in my heart and the trust I had in my "strong faith" disappeared. In an instant, the person I thought I was and the things I thought I believed seem to lay before me on the ground like the contents of a beautifully potted orchid that had been thrown from the 10th floor window.

I couldn't read blogs, attend missions events, listen to songs or fake my way through a missions Sunday at church. I would get up and leave, telling God to screw himself as I walked out the door and down the hall.

Was this some kind of a sick joke? Who does that?

I've asked, desperately, what we should do now and the only thing I have gotten in return is silence. No whispers of His voice, no profound truths from scripture, no words from the teaching of the men and women that had so clearly been instruments of His words anymore.

The anger continued to well and finally pour out. I've been angry at everyone and everything for a very long time.

Anger does crazy things to you. It makes you blind, deaf and cold. I would interact with my children and I could see myself, almost in the 3rd person, reacting in ways that I would not typically react. It was surreal and almost as if I was living a life that I was simply watching, not a participant.

Finally, after a long silence with the Lord, I begged Him to reveal to me why we are in this place when it's not at all where my heart desires. I got no profound answers. I didn't see a hand writing on the wall or hear the voice of God audibly.

Instead, a dirty faced, chubby cheeked almost 15 month old toddler came toward me with her half drunk saunter. She grinned and juicy animal crackers dripped from her chin as she struggled her way into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

A clingy 3 year old rounded the corner and squealed with the delight at the sight of me. I delight her every time I she sees me.

A fresh, new 5 year old crawls into bed with me on the morning of her birthday. Soft, blond, wild curls cover my face as she nuzzles her head under my chin. "You smell nice Momma. I think my nose is better when I'm five," she giggles.

Two six year olds sit poised with pencils in hand and scribble out shaky letters. One of them reads every word his eyes see and he beams with joy, the other beams with pride over words of praise and affirmation.

An eight year old boy finds a love for baseball. He carries his glove with him everywhere he goes and he wears his Daddy's number from college on his back. He's the scrawniest player on the team but he hustles and works hard and he's determined to prove himself.

Eight and ten year old sisters find a love for horses and cultivate a friendship unlike anything I've ever seen. They giggle and talk about horses and boys and how to decorate their room until long past their bed time.

When the anger subsides, this is what I see. I see the nations. I see my life revolving around these people who desperately need the gospel. I see me serving them with open arms and a glad heart so that they experience Jesus in me.

I see the one job my arrogant self assumed was not good enough now being the most important, the most challenging, the most necessary.

I see the nations before me. I see them in dirty socks left on the kitchen counter, unending loads of laundry and middle of the night nursing sessions. I see them in gentle corrections, hugs after a hard consequence and love despite their flaws. I see them in endless snacks and cup refills, in spills and messes, in cherrios crushed under my shoe.

I see the stage being set for world changers who grew up sitting right around my very own dinner table.

I see that in order for me to live within the full glory of God's desire for my life, and in turn to create these people who will no doubt love others beyond themselves, it begins by serving my children joyfully and with a heart devoted only to their very best.

I have spent much time wondering why the pain of the last few years has been heaped upon our family. I've wondered why the anger and resentment has been rooted deep inside my heart, seemingly planted there by the One who is suppose to take away doubt, fear, shame and bitterness. I wondered why He set us up for failure, for grief, for brokenness.

And then I looked up and I was overcome by exactly what I was suppose to see all along. They are it. We were not set up for brokenness. We were set up for this. This perfectly chaotic, unkept, totally filled-to-the-brim life. The scales tip whichever way I give them weight. I can choose anger and grief or joy and grace.

As the anger is slowly being washed away, joy is filtering through. Joy in the lives of these 8 people that are forever connected to me so deeply that there is no grief, no disappointment, no financial loss, no brokenness nor pain that could ever sever me from them.

They are my mission. And finally I can say with fullness that if they are my sole purpose in this life, it is enough. They are enough. Just as they are, just as I am, just as He has always been, I will fully pour myself into them, not reserving even one drop for what could have been or what I could hope will one day be.

I will share with them the good news of a Savior who never quits on them, even when they try with their whole self to give up on Him.

With love, I will serve them with joy and gladness, just as I would have the most honored guest at our Kenyan dinner table. Because they are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful, forever.

Through smoke

She had tied the drawstring of her robe tight around her waist. Her linen pants hung loosely around her legs and were stuffed into the tops of her laced up boots of peace. Her cloak hung heavily on her shoulders, which was ironic since the armor that protected her vital organs felt remarkably light.

Picture her with me.

Truth sat low on her hips while righteousness covered her chest. Protected by her faithful shield, salvation upon her head, on the defensive with the glimmer of her sword, spirit. She was ready. She had trained, prepared and knew the battle would be intense. In fact, there had been many small battles leading up to this day.

She looked to her left and he stood there with her. Adorned with a matching uniform, he stood just a pace in front of her, prepared to take the worst of the blows, knowing that it was not only his calling but his duty as her protector, provider, prophet and priest. Yes, they would fight together but he was set over her. Not because she was inferior but because the goodness of the One who prepared this battle knew what He was doing.

A smile crept across her lips as she looked back out onto the hills in front of them. Battle is never easy, but after you've prepared for weeks and months and years when it's time to go, you can't help but be a bit eager.

Together, nearly in unison, they step into the war zone, knowing that it could last longer than they both have the energy or resolve to endure. However, they aren't relying on their own strength alone and they know this full and well. Emerging from the sky are cherubim, clothed in no armor at all but brandishing weapons that annihilate the enemy in one, swift stroke.

Rushing forward, metal clinks, blows are landed and they find little successes. Suddenly, the ground shakes, the sky grows dark. Smoke engulfs the battlefield. Disoriented and confused, they become separated in sight. She can hear him but the smoke burns her eyes with such pain that she must choose to close them for fear of losing her sight forever more.

She hears wailing and crying and listens intently to try to discern from which direction it coming, only to realize that it is from her own lips. Her heart is afraid and her voice betrays her by telling every enemy within earshot.

Trembling, she sinks to her knees and opens her eyes, desperately scanning the horizon. The smoke is so thick she cannot possibly see beyond her own arm,  much less into the distance. The stench of burning trash and excrement lingers in her nostrils.

"Help! Where are you? Help me, please."

The roar of battle has ceased but the smoke remains. She can no longer hear him or the One who gives the orders.

"This is it?" she thinks. "This is not the battle for which I trained. No! This wasn't in the plan at all. How did this happen? No! This cannot be it." Her heart pounds in her chest and fear overwhelms her.

The silence is now deafening.

She crawls across the field on her hands and knees hoping to find someone, anyone, who might give a clue as to what has happened. There are no signs of battle, no wayward shields or swords. No members of the enemy camp laying slain on the ground. Nothing but the smoke even suggests there's been a battle.

This. This ground shaking madness, this was not what she had prepared for at all. She hopes staying close to the ground will provide reprieve from the smoke but it is as thick and pungent down low as it is up high.

She crawls across rocks and sticks and through mud but no where does she find remnant or clues to anyone else on this field with her. Finally, FINALLY, she finds a small wall of stone. She believes she remembers this one. It's old, and frail, but she's seen it before. The familiarity of it relieves her, though she knows it will be of little use since once before it was crumbled. Resting her back upon it, she tries to find her bearings.

The enemy. He must be responsible for this. He has to be. He is sneaky and vicious and cares not who he kills. Surely he is on the other side of this short wall, prowling, waiting for her to expose herself so he can finish her off.

Then she realizes that she's not safe. No where is safe. Though the smoke is thick still in most places, it's beginning to rise. He will see her, someone will see her vulnerable, and finish what the enemy has started. With fervor and with trembling hands she grabs the stones around her and begins rebuilding the wall. Higher, higher, stronger, taller it grows. It curves around beside her and yet she continues. Creating her own little provision, she gathers the uneven, worn, battered stones that had previously been ripped down and she rebuilds what was once deemed unnecessary.

Once she has it far reaching enough around her she stops and tucks herself into its sanctuary. Now, behind the wall she built from the ruins, she is safe.  The enemy can't find her and once the smoke clears she can emerge on her own terms, sword drawn, and fight her way back to where she once was.

She waits. It is taking a long time for the smoke to rise. Shouldn't it have risen by now? Where did it come from anyway? This is not what she had trained for. She waits, she thinks, she tries to pray, but in vain.

And then it washes over her. He knew. The One, he knew. He knew this would be the battle all along. "How could you know and not prepare me?!," she cries. He knew and yet he did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her to know what to do in this scenario. She'd rehearsed and prepared for just about anything else but this. What is she to do now?

The One she trusted to train her, the One she trusted her life to, he knew. And somehow, somewhere amid all the preparations, he failed to train her for this. He knew, and he failed. Therefore she would fail, too. And he knew she would fail.

Her jaw set with anger and determination, she looks down at the armor upon her body. It is beaten and broken and flawed now. How is that possible? What battle has she fought? She doesn't remember any enemy blows because before she could really fight, her world was rocked. How can she be so heavily beaten up, for she was merely trying to survive.

Hold fast

Those were the words she said the Lord revealed to her as she prayed over what to share with us for the weekend. Hold fast.

And tonight, almost 3 years later, that weekend and those words were the ones that came immediately to mind when a dear friend told me to keep holding on.

It’s been a hard 2 years. Death, loss, grief, dreams that have seemed to dissipate, financial stress, adding a baby to our already crazy house, moving, it’s been an exhausting 2 years. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally it has consumed me in all of those areas. There are days where there is very little left of the old me at all.

But I clung to the side of the mountain. The mountain that seemed to shake beneath me as the world I knew came crumbling down. Yes, over the loss of a girl but also the loss of our dreams. The loss of what we envisioned for our family and for our children. But I clung, though not well at times, because I knew of nothing else to do. My fingernails were bloody and hurting. My feet ever feeling for a ledge to find my footing. Somehow, over time, a ledge appeared. I’m not sure if it was provided for me or if my constant slipping made a rut so that a ledge had been formed. But I found one, either way. I gathered myself, decided it was time to begin climbing again, and I looked up just in time to see the mountain above me begin to crumble again.

Deceit. Deceit that has shaken me to my core. By people I’ve trusted, admired and held in high esteem my entire life. The breath of the enemy is hot on my neck and I cling, once again to the side of the cliff.

And tonight as I sat and shared with a dear friend the depths of the pain, she told me, “just hold on.”

“You shall fear the Lord your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him and by his name you shall swear.” Deuteronomy 10:20 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I’ll swear all right. Don’t you worry.

Random dropping of swear words because, it just feels good dammit. Check. Check. Checkity, effing check.

“I almost fell off, you know?” I told her. “I was so close.”

“I know. But you didn’t. You held on. Just keep holding on." HOLD ON.

Beth Moore said that same thing to an arena full of women, eager to hear her speak. Some of the girls from my Bible study attended with me and that was her message, the one she said God gave her to speak over our specific group 3 years ago. Hold fast.

I’ll be honest. At the time it didn’t mean a lot to me, I mean, other than the obvious.

Heh. Sure. I can hold fast. Hold fast for what?

But on the drive home tonight it was those words that came screaming back into my brain. HOLD FAST JESSICA. Just hold fast. Help is on the way.

Help? What help? What’s taking so freaking long, anyway?

That weekend with Beth Moore I underlined another ‘hold fast’ in my Bible.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I sure hope he who promised proves to be faithful. I sure hope so.

Those verses, that weekend.

Another friend helped me remember the date of that event. July 23-24, 2011. Exactly one year prior, to the day, that Paige died. I don’t believe in coincidences.

I’m weary. I’m afraid. I’m uncertain. But, with all that I have left, I hold fast.


—————

Side note: For those of you who know me in real life, this is a vulnerable place for me to be, out here on my blog. But after several people encouraged me to just write, I’m putting it out there. NOT because I desire to have you tell me how much you’re praying for me (though, thanks) or because I want to have a stop-and-chat in the hall at church on Sunday (please, just, no).

But, because there is no possible way that I’m the only one. There’s no way that I’m the only person going through this season. Someone else is clinging, with all they have. And you, dear one, are not alone. Let’s hold fast together, shall we? We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to hug or make it weird. Let’s just hold on together. Because, I’m certain, even though I’m scared as hell and I’m certainly confused beyond what I can understand, I’m certain that help really is on the way. It has to be. Hold fast with me, okay?

The wrestling

Grace told me I should blog. I told her that I wasn't quite sure what to say that wouldn't be 1) depressing 2) angry 3) heresy.

But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.

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I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.

Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.

I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.

But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.

And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.

Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.

But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:

1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.

I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.

Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.

I believe that myself. Most days.

Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.

2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?

And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:

Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.

So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?

That's ridiculous.

This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.

"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"

I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.

I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.

Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.

And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.

Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.

And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?

Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.

A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.

His understanding is beyond measure

Our church has begun the formative stages of an adoption and foster parent ministry. It's in its infancy and Monday night was the first public informational meeting.

After a few families shared their stories of adoption (including us) a woman I'd never seen before began to share her story. As she spoke of talking with a potential birth mother, the tears came quickly for her. My heart was swiftly carried back to the times my own heart ached over each of our children. If nothing else, after the meeting I wanted to hug her and tell her that she's not in this journey alone.

As we talked, we chatted about foster care. Finally, a familiar quip rang in my ears as she said that some people she knew had said this about fostering to adopt, "Oh, how could you ever give them back if you had to?"

How many times we've heard that (and still do) when we share about our experience and calling to foster, then adopt!

I've avoided our church's sanctuary as much as possible over the last four months. Every single time I go in there, my mind reforms a closed, white casket stretched in front of the pulpit, a spray of roses and sunflowers across the top of it and my dear friend laying inside. Nearly every time, the taste of bile rises in my throat as I enter.

What should be a place of refuge has become a place of loathing.

But as I sat there, in that same sanctuary, telling this stranger that this journey of adoption isn't meant to be taken alone I hear words come from my mouth and spill into the space in front of me.

"You know though, when people say that they could never foster to adopt, it bothers me. If God clearly called you to this season, if God chooses to make it painful, then it will hurt and you will certainly hit rock bottom. But God is the rock at the bottom. You may land face down, but you will land on Him."

I sat back, looked at my friend Emily and as tears quickly spilled onto my cheeks I said, "Wow. I needed to hear myself say that."

And that's basically where I feel myself right now. Face down on the rock. Unable to stand.

Sure, there are joyful things happening around me. Amanda had her sweet baby on Sunday and I was able to be in the delivery room to take pictures. Birth is miraculous and I am still in awe of her strength. I try to find the good in the fact that we aren't going now. We get more time with our friends and family. Christmas isn't quite so bittersweet this year with a departure looming on the horizon.

But Paige won't be home this Christmas. Just like she wasn't at our house the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, which was typical.

Then, I read Missy's post today and my heart ached so desperately to be gearing up to head to a land full of brown faces, brown eyes and new culture. I sat in front of my computer weeping over all that we've lost lately and I looked back for the post I'd written about the tears and trials that came with our first 5 children. This scripture that I'd once held so close was sitting before me, begging me to believe it all over again.

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives to all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

Psalm 147:3-5

I'm brokenhearted. I'm wounded. I'm weak.

I'm forcing myself to believe that Great is our Lord, and abundant in power; his understanding is beyond measure. I must believe it. It must be true. His understanding must be beyond my own ability to measure. Beyond my own ability to understand. It must be so.

Lord, prove to me this truth. This truth that my heart already knows but my head is struggling to comprehend.

Please, prove it once more, like you've always done before.

More of Him

I pushed send and sat back, my stomach already turning in knots.

I closed the laptop and pushed it to the other side of the table telling myself that I would not obsess over how people reacted.

I won't do it.

But a few minutes later, the glow of the laptop illuminated my face as I looked at the list that continued to grow that told me who had received our last newsletter.

This is God's plan, this is God's plan, this is God's plan.

I keep reminding myself this over and over again because even today over chips and salsa with a very dear friend I couldn't keep my voice from shaking as I told her how desperately I long to be in Africa.

God knew when He called us to Africa what was foreboding on the calendar of 2012 for our family. He knew. And yet, He still called us, still let us proceed to this point. Because He knew somewhere in all of this mess is something that I need so desperately.

More of Him.

I need Him now more than ever before. Because y'all, at times, it feels like my whole life is crumbling right around me. Like it's slipping through the space between my fingers and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

You know when you're at the beach and your kids have built the sandcastle of all sandcastles. It's a good distance from the water but you know that tomorrow, it won't be there? You know how a few hours later you're warm and crispy, the kids have moved on to collecting seashells and then it happens.

THE wave comes. Through futile attempts you may try to dig and dig and dig to allow for a barrier of some sort from the water. A trench, anything, to divert the impending loss that the waves will bring. But it's pointless, really.

Slowly, all you've worked so hard to build slips away in one fail sweep of waves. And just like that...

it's gone.

Knowing this was all part of God's original plan and feeling contentment and peace in my heart with our current situation are two totally different things. The first one I'm okay with. The second is a daily struggle.

This summer we went on a road trip to see family and friends. For the second year in a row, Paige went with us. She'd met our friends Mandy and Micah the last time we went over and connected with Mandy right away. The three of us girls sat up into the wee hours of the morning talking and laughing while the men were being sensible and sleeping.

That night will forever be burned into my memory. Our conversation had quickly turned to relationships, dating and, for Mandy and I, the mistakes we'd made in both of those areas. Paige was confessing some of her own struggles as she strived toward purity.

Mandy and I sat on the couch and Paige sat cross-legged in the floor with a blanket over her lap, on their floral print rug, picking at the carpet lint around her.

She looked up at me, with tears in her eyes, her voice shaking.

"Jess, I know why you guys aren't in Kenya this summer, like you were suppose to be."

Tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

"It's because of me. God knew I needed you here this summer."

I think about that night and it nearly takes my breath away. That was two weeks before she died. Little did she know that she was speaking words of prophecy.

But now, she's gone. Our plans and goals have crumbled. The thing we've been working toward for nearly two years (and planning and praying about for nearly 4 years) seems like a lofty, far-off dream and I'm struggling to see the glory of God in any of it.

I'm left surrounded by mess, heartache and grief. The kind that takes you by surprise and you wonder if you'll be able to hold it together through the rest of your conversation so you can slip into the safety of an empty room and cry.

And yet I know that in the midst of all of this the Lord is waiting, calling, desiring me to come and just lay it all before Him.

He's waiting.

I'm hesitant.

I'm desperate to feel His presence and yet I'm just not sure I'm ready to submit myself to the One who built me up and then allowed me to fall and our world to crumble.

The song "Steady My Heart" by Kari Jobe has spoken to me over and over and over again, especially the chorus.

Even when it hurts,
Even when it's hard,
Even when it all just falls apart.
I will run to you,
'Cause I know that you are
Lover of my soul
Healer of my scars
You steady my heart
You steady my heart

I know He will steady my heart if I will just allow myself to have more of Him and less of my own self pity and sorrow. If will allow Him to overshadow my grief, my disappointment, my fear of what our future might hold.

More of Him. That's exactly what I need to steady my heart.

Beauty in death

Leaves flutter to the ground, their flecks of amber and gold whirring around on the wind, carelessly landing on the tops of sidewalks, cars and piles of other leaves. Our children dance and play beneath them, taking special joy when a hard breeze comes through our yard and they cascade down as if being painted across the landscape with the swooping of The Artist's hand.

(source)

Golds, yellows, greens, reds, browns. When poised among the same branches, the beauty nearly takes my breath away. As we drive down the road I find my eyes looking to the landscape, the beauty of what is around me takes my mind off of the radio, the children behind me, my current life.

Fall has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember.

(source)

The crunch of the leaves below the soles of my shoes, the need for bulky sweaters and the changing of warmer temperatures to cooler ones, no doubt this time of year brings me joy that no other season can.

Yet the irony of the beauty of the season this year is almost crushing. Because, the truth is heartbreakingly simple.

(source)

There can be beauty in death.

Fall proves this yearly. As leaves wither and die, taking on new colors, shapes and textures they paint a beautiful portrait that can only be seen on the landscape of death.

As much as it pains me to admit that. As much as my current life season doesn't want to admit that truth. There can be beauty in death.

When death is hidden within the promises of Christ a breathtaking picture is revealed. Make no mistake, death apart from Christ is anything but beautiful.

Some dear friends reminded me of this truth last night as we talked with them on the phone across hundreds of miles. And, in the early days following Paige's death, I thought about it often and it would make me smile.

She's there. Seeing Him face to face. Worshipping wholly. Really living. Not this trite, vapor of a life that we have here. Real life. Lived right before the King.

There's beauty in that aspect of her death.

It's selfish to wish she was still here so that I could text her at night or skype with her during the week or ask her to sit and edit photos with me.

It's selfish to wish she could be here for birthdays, drives through the parkway in the mountains and to watch our kids while we go on a date.

It's selfish because I know that she doesn't desire to be here anymore.

I think about Mary and how she must have felt to watch her son hang on a cross. To watch his lifeless body be taken down and put inside a tomb. The grief must have been unbearable. Did she know she'd see Him alive again in a few short days? When she saw Him, did she embrace him as if it had been months since their last encounter?

Did she see the beauty in His death? Or was that only revealed to her once His death was abolished?

How her heart must have grieved while He laid in the tomb.

I know Paige is full of life, joyful and beautiful in the presence of her Savior. But I'd give anything to embrace her just one more time. To see her car ease into our driveway and watch her bounce up the walk. To sit with her over hot coffee or see her dance with our kids. For Ashlee to have the special time that was promised but never delivered.

The leaves spin down, dancing on the wind as our littlest girls squeal and dance along side them. Their delight is unmatched. The beauty of the season slowing falling all around them.

Beauty. Death.

Those two seem like an odd marriage. But in the shadow of the cross they make perfect sense. The beauty in Christ's death is redemption. Only by death is the richness of salvation possible.

I miss her so much. And yet I cling to the promise that one day, I will see the beauty in her death as well.

Take heart

I'm generally an outspoken girl. I know you all are shocked to hear that.

But lately, I just can't seem to form the words. Actually, that's not true. I can form words. But the words that mesh together in my head, then form into thoughts and beg to spill from my lips are not exactly words that many people want to hear.

I go to a Bible study on Thursdays. This is my fourth year and I'd recommend it to any and every one who loves to study the word of God or wants to learn how to study the word of God or just needs 2 hours a week with some of the most amazing women on the planet.

I also go to a Bible study on Monday night with some of my closest friends. Sometimes it's more of group therapy than Bible study. But they challenge me, convict me and encourage me like few people can.

I'm also working through a Bible study with 3 other close friends. We're reading through the book of Ruth. I've always loved the book of Ruth.

Ask me about my Monday night study. I avoid going because I simply don't want to hear about any more struggles with any of my friends. Selfish, I know.

Ask me about the Ruth study. I've been on week 3 for about 3 and a half weeks.

Ask me about the Thursday study. Am I reading through Ephesians like all the other women? Not exactly. We are entering week 3 and I've yet to crack my workbook open outside of class time.

I sit in my small group time and listen to well intentioned women give their best efforts at encouraging and convicting snippets of information, all while perfectly holding a warm cup of coffee and wearing brightly colored capri pants and a snappy little cardigans. I look around the room and wonder what the hidden tragedies are in their lives. What words, songs, smells or memories cause hot tears to spring to their eyes in a matter of seconds? Do they even have those stories?

We sit in a circle and they share their convictions of the weeks's lesson and I look at them and wonder how on earth they can just sit there and talk about the glory of God.

I know they mean well. I know that some women in my group have faced tragedy that I pray never befalls me. One of the women in my group is walking a road that sickens me and causes me to sob on demand.

These women, they have wisdom and insights and knowledge that at any other time in my life, I'd leap at, cling to and scribble in the margins of my workbook.

But right now I'm struggling to understand, comprehend and flat out accept the sovereignty of God.

We're planning a beach trip soon and we're also planning a trip to go see our "oh-my-word-our-families-are-so-similar-its-scary" friends sometime in the near future. Yes, we drive a 15 passenger van. No, we cannot fit all the crap we need to function our luggage into our van when we travel places that require more than one night's stay. Therefore, the last two times we've travelled, we've had to rent an enclosed trailer. So I did a little search on Craig's List and found one listed very cheap about an hour away from us. We offered the seller significantly less than the listing price and he accepted. For approximately the cost of two rentals, we bought a trailer.

Only God.

Yesterday we packed up the kids and drove the hour or so to pick it up. When we got there we began to make small talk with the seller. He and his family had moved from California to the east coast and he bought the trailer for the move.

"Why did you move here?"

"To attend seminary,"he answered.

Turns out, he is attending seminary at the same place Luke and I have been taking online courses for Africa Inland Mission's Bible training requirements. Noticing that the seller was from another country, we asked him if he had plans to go back to his home country.

"Yes, I came here to get my degree so I can go back home and plant churches there."

I stood there, dumbfounded.

Seriously, God? Church planting?

We shared our own calling with him, I made small talk with his very pregnant wife, Luke prayed with him and then we drove off, almost feeling like we were stealing this trailer because we bought is so cheap.

On the way home, I shared with Luke, my inability to understand God's sovereignty.

"How is it that in less than 24 hours from the time I decided to look for a trailer, we are driving home with one that we got for so cheap? I'm having a hard time reconciling this with God. I mean, we didn't pray for a trailer it's just a blessing that God provided. Yet, I've prayed and prayed and begged God for some serious desires of my heart and yet, I don't hear or see anything in regards to them. I'm angry."

And that's where I'm at folks.

How can a God who is in the details of our lives seem so distant? So far? So.... uncaring about my heart and the lives of those around me?

And, I don't mean this as harshly as it's going to sound, but please save your trite, customary responses. I don't need to hear "God has a plan" or "Time will heal" or even "Judge your circumstances by your God not your God by your circumstances."

Because if I'm being honest, life seems unfair right now.

I'm watching a friend grieve the loss of the daughter she's carrying in her womb. She knows her death is inevitable and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

Another friend is going through emotions I cannot fathom as her due date approaches for a son she delivered too many weeks too soon. Instead of growing uncomfortably large, anticipating sleepless nights and round-the-clock feedings, she's navigating the pain of knowing her due date will come and go and no baby will arrive as scheduled.

Another friend is struggling with health issues. Words like cancer and brain adenoma are being thrown around. And while not currently life threatening, it's scary because, dear God, she has 3 boys to raise.

Our plans for Africa seem to be ever changing and my heart is grasping at something to hold firm because I need something to be certain, sure and unwavering.

Not to mention, you know, my friend died and today marks two months.

Two months.

And in two month's time I still can't wrap my mind around why God would chose to take a perfectly healthy 20 year old girl who loved Him deeply, with zeal and with a reckless abandon. And everyone around her knew it.

So I sit. In Bible studies I sit. In church I sit. I listen to others tell me about how glorious and marvelous and faithful God is and I just sit. I take it all in but my voice never dares speak.

I try to pray and instead melt into tears and wonder if the desires in my heart are really what God wants to even give me because, damnit, it sure doesn't feel that way.

Yet even in this, I know.

He is faithful.

He is good.

He is trustworthy.

He is righteous.

He is Lord.

As the earth seems to tremble around me and I question sovereignty and meaning and why life seems to suck for nearly every person I know, I take heart.

I take heart.

Clinging to the promises that He who says who He is, is true. He is my true north.

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.”

(John 16:33 ESV)

September 2012 Newsletter

Several years ago, when we set out on this journey of missions to Africa, we told God that we would go wherever He called us. We meant it. If God called us to go to unreached people, we’d go. If He called us to stay right where we are, we’d stay. If He asked us to go for multiple terms, we’d go. If He asked us to go one term, we’d do that too.

Ashlee and Paige, family trip to Paige's college - April 2012

Our desire is to experience Jesus like never before. We’d been on the mountain top with God and our desire is to be in His presence as much as possible, experiencing intimacies with Him.

Aaron and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

It’s been a hard summer for our family. As most of you know, in July, our family lost a very special person. Paige is a young girl we’d been discipling for over 5 years. Over the years, she became a part of our family. She went on vacations with us, helped us shuffle kids to and from events, spent countless hours around our kitchen table and playing games with our family. Her unexpected and sudden death has rocked our family.

Olivia and Paige, family vacation - May 2011

In light of our challenging summer, we put all of our speaking and support raising engagements on hold. We began just trying to survive day to day without our precious friend.

Jessica and Paige - 2008

As we made our way through our days, we began to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t ask God for confirmation on our calling to Kenya. As we prayed, we felt God moving us to consider some other options.

Paige and the kids - family trip to Paige's college - August 2010

To make a long story short, we have decided to take a SHORT TERM trip with Africa Inland Mission.
A short term trip with AIM lasts anywhere from 3 months to 12 months. The support goals will be significantly less and, our prayer is that our family will still get to travel to Southern Kenya where our hearts are still burdened for the unreached Duruma and Digo people. Our hope is to return there full time after our short term service period has ended.

Paige and Lucas have special time - July 2012

Currently, the short term department at AIM is researching our assignment options.

Luke, Mary and Paige - our first discipleship weekend - 2009

Will you pray with us that:

* God will make clear the assignment He desires for our family.

* We will hear His voice and see where He is moving.

* Our prayer and financial support will continue to increase. Even going short term, we still will have support needs that need to be completed.

* Our family will continue to heal the loss of our beloved Paige.

Elizabeth and Paige, family vacation - July 2012

Thank you for joining us on this journey. You are so faithful.

Blessings,

Luke, Jessica, Elizabeth, Lucas, Ashlee, Aaron, Olivia, Ella and Abigail Beaver

Just okay

"How are you?"

The words roll off their tongues as we casually pass in the hallways at church.

I think they stare at me a little longer than they used to. Maybe it's just my imagination. We've always gotten stares.

"I'm okay," I answer.

At least at this very second.

Why do we ask people that in passing? When we ask, do we really even care what their answer is? Or are we just trying to be polite?

I think it's just a miserable effort at polite. Because if we really wanted the answer to "How are you?" we'd stop, pull up a chair, lean in real close, look them in the eye and say, "How are you? All of you? Really?"

I'm guilty of it too, though. I've passed people in the hall at church or in the store or even asked my friends, "How are you?" and yet, I either already know the answer or truly, I don't want to know.

Luke said he's done asking people how they are unless he really has time to stop and listen.

I agree.

Sundays are hard. Maybe it's because I half expect her to come bouncing into the worship service with her shoes missing from her feet and her skirt swishing around her and a hat positioned squarely on her head. It's like somewhere, in my mind, this has all been a dream, a funeral I've planned in my head and it's not reality.

You know the ones. The funerals you plan when you can't get ahold of your husband or child or best friend and you're certain that they're dead somewhere so you just begin planning their funeral in your head?

Maybe that's just me.

But that's not the case this time, is it? No, there really was a funeral. She really is dead. (As Aaron likes to remind me. Daily. And every day I force myself to acknowledge him politely instead of sending him back to bed until he's 15.)

Elizabeth is writing a story about her.

Ashlee talks about her and laughs at her silliness.

Lucas randomly bursts into tears.

Aaron reminds me often that "Paige is dead."

Olivia sees silent tears streaming down my cheeks and asks me if Paige is "still at Jesus."

Luke is hurting, trying to find refuge in the things that don't seem to spark yet another memory of her. And folks, let me tell you, it's hard for our family to find things that don't involve memories of her. Nearly every song, nearly every place we've been to, someone's laugh in the distance, it all can lead back to a memory of her.

And most of the time, those memories come out of the no where, like a surprise to me. It takes my breath away and I want to drop to my knees and cry out with wailing sobs just like I did a month and 2 days ago on the floor of my kitchen. But usually, I'm in a crowd or sitting in church or just reading aloud to my children. So instead of wailing I pause, breathe, fight the burn of tears in my throat and eyes and try to move on.

And I hate every second of it. I hate that students are moving back to college and she's not. I hate that Grace is still here instead of in Kenya. I hate that something hilarious happens and I know how hard she'd laugh and so I reach for the phone only to remember that she'll never get my text.

I'm mad her BFF Mary has to walk the rest of her college years alone, without her.

I'm broken for her mother who has to figure out what life looks like with one of your children buried, in a box, in the ground.

It hit me the other day that, statistically, Luke and I will have to bury a child. My paternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 of them. My maternal grandmother had 4 children. She's buried 2 as well.

By sheer statistics, chances are that Luke and I will outlive one or more of our kids. That throws me not only into a state of fear but into deeper mourning, if that's even possible.

And yet somehow, amid all this emotion and confusion and pain and sadness, life must go on.

I must (and want to) still school our children and try to clean our house and keep up with the laundry and watch too many episodes of 24 late at night with my husband.

(Near) six month olds still have diapers that I need (and want) to change.

Two year olds must still be disciplined and tickled until blonde curls cover her pudgy cheeks.

Six year old girls still need late nights at the store with their Mommas, just to act silly and spend $3.00 trying to get a stupid stuffed animal from the rip-off game that is the claw machine.

Four year olds still need to have a play-by-play of our day as soon as his tiny feet hit the floor.

Eight year olds still need to sleep with Mom and Dad some nights just because she's a cuddle bug and I know her heart will be full the next day.

Six year old boys still need hugs and kisses from their Momma and a reminder that one day we'll be able to talk about her without crying.

Three year olds still need to dance during breakfast and sometimes, with their Momma.

Life goes on even though I wish, so desperately, it would take an extended pause and allow me to just sit in this moment, miss her, and my children not grow up by one more day.

But reality is that, for most of the world, their days have not been measured in days/memories/life before July 24th and a new life after July 24th.

I feel like I need to justify to people that our family is still pretty rocked by the death of a 20 year old girl. But the truth is, she wasn't just any 20 year old girl.

She is our Paigey.

The one that taught us that God is always big enough, there's always time to sing the Beaver song just one more time, Peanut M&Ms are best when shared with people you love the most, spontaneous dancing is always allowed, it's okay if you look like an idiot - the memories later will be worth it, God will never fail you - even if you feel like a failure yourself, being yourself is more important that being who others want you to be, discipling someone is painful, tedious, a lot of work but always fun and being discipled is crucial.

And so much more that I could never put into meager words.

We're still broken. We still miss her. I still fight back tears every, single day and especially on Sunday as I walk through the halls of the place where I first saw her face.

It's doubtful I'll be able to enter the youth area for a very long time. Standing in the worship center is more than my heart can bear.

So when you ask "How are you?" and I answer, "I'm okay." Know that at that very moment, I'm just okay.

Not better.

Not worse.

Probably forcing a smile and wishing I'd taken the route outside instead of through the church. Or wishing I was at Kmart.

I prefer Kmart over church because at Kmart, no one knows about her.

And typically, Sundays are the hardest days of the week.

So before someone asks me one more time how I am, let me cut them off at the pass and answer them.

I'm okay.

No more. No less. Just okay.

Desires of my heart

I'm in that place where it feels like God has turned His back on you. That place where the mercy, love and faithfulness of God that scripture speaks of so often feel like they are an ocean away from me.

Paige's death has a lot to do with that but there are other things going on in my life that are leaving me asking God many questions about where His mercy, love and faithfulness have gone. That old phrase "When it rains, it pours!" seems to be pretty accurate lately.

I was hoping for us to do so much this summer, considering it was suppose to be our last summer in the United States for four years. I wanted to go to the zoo a lot, spend days playing at the new playgrounds in our town, take trips to see friends and family and mostly, just spend it with our family and friends nearby, savoring our relationships with them and storing up all the memories we could.

Instead, it's been a summer plagued with grief, chaos and uncertainty.

Friends have tragically lost babies while other friends are struggling with God's goodness in the face of uncertainty with their own unborn children.

Friends are watching foster children they've loved on, prayed fervently for, and wished to adopt, return to birth parents. The unfairness of it stings as they pack up toys and clothing and say goodbye for what will likely be the last time.

Our outgoing support needs went up. Again. Yes, it's for a valid reason like language school. But support raising seems like such a steep mountain to climb.

Our house was riddled with fleas for over a week. So much so that we had to move into my grandmother's small condo immediately following our trip to Arkansas. We'd been out of town for 11 days and came home to a home we couldn't even step foot in. What kind of things am I suppose to learn from that?

I feel like I'm a pretty flexible person. I feel like I roll with the punches easily.

But I'm tired of punches.

I've pleaded with God over trivial maters and He's responded with a resounding "NO" and I stand and watch, with anger welling up inside of me.

Yesterday, it all washed over me like an unexpected wave, knocking me off of my feet. The tears flowed freely and the hurt came consistently.

There have been times in my life that I've been on the mountain top with God. I've been so near to Him that I could nearly feel His powerful breath warming my shoulders, embracing me with His glory.

Clearly, where I am now, is the valley scripture speaks of.

What does one do in the valley? How does one look at the mountain's steep slopes towering around her and realize that the only way out is to climb? Where does that energy come from?

Where does the desire to even climb come from?

I've been pondering these verses over the last two and a half weeks, especially the last few days.

Trust in the LORD, and do good;

dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.

Delight yourself in the LORD,

and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the LORD;

trust in him, and he will act.

  (Psalm 37:3-5 ESV)

I'm going to be real honest here.

I'm not seeing any of the desires of my heart being met.

And I was a freakin' delightful mess for the Lord, trying my best to do some obedient good for His name's sake. I was trusting him fully, MOVING MY FAMILY TO AFRICA and believing that He would act on my behalf.

Until about two weeks ago. So someone tell me how this verse makes any sense in light of everything going on in my life over the last month?

Yet somewhere amid what appears to be towering disappointments, handed out by God himself, I'm reminded of this:

We met Paige when she was 15 years old. Seven months later, she turned 16. The youngest of four children, she had watched each of her older siblings turn 16 and eventually gain the most prized possession a 16 year old can have: a car all their own.

However, due to circumstances beyond anyone's control, cars flat out dying, sisters and brothers whose jobs and schooling required them to have family pooled resources, Paige's 16th, 17th and 18th years came and went without her having her very own vehicle.

She spent two years at college without a car too. While she never complained (too much) about it, I knew that it was a deep desire of her heart to have her very own car.

At the beginning of July Paige went with our family on a road trip across Tennessee and into part of Mississippi and Arkansas. Our goal was to see friends and family - some of who we anticipated it being our last time before we head to Kenya in January.

But God had other plans.

The last night before we headed back, we stayed with some amazing friends that we've been blessed to know for over 15 years. They're incredibly generous with us each time we visit (moving a herd of Beavers into your home for 2 - 3 days at a time gets you the generous award any day) and always go out of their way to make sure we are comfortable and well fed.

Their generosity doesn't end with us though. Micah and Luke, who have been best friends since middle school, went out one morning. As they came back in, Luke saw Mandy's car from high school sitting there and knowing that it was an extra one he casually asked Micah, "What are you going to do with that car?"

Micah, in turn said, "Well, we've been praying about giving it away to someone." Off handedly, and truly joking, Luke said, "Paige doesn't have a car."

It was decided that night that Micah and Mandy would give Paige their old car.

She was just a tad excited.

The next morning the title was signed over and Paige was the happiest girl on the planet.

I snapped photos of her as she climbed into her own car for the very first time. After all, every girl needs pictures of herself in her very first car, right?

I made her drive that car the entire 700+ miles home. She offered a few times to let me drive and I declined, knowing that this is what her heart had desired for so long.

So as I ponder my own heart and how very few of my desires seem to be being met right now, I remember this one thing my sweet friend Emily said to me,

"God knew she wouldn't need that car but in His generosity, He gave it to her anyway. How incredible is that?"

The Lord gave her this tiny, inconsequential, completely trivial, totally fleshly desire of her heart.

18 days later she died.

As tears spill out of my eyes and run down my cheeks, I hope I can cling to this truth: God provides us with the desires of our hearts each and every time that those desires glorify Him.

I miss my friend

I notice Ella has her underwear on sideways as she trots away from me, her blond curls bouncing as she takes "Wee-ya" (Olivia) a sippy of milk, her own sippy clutched tightly in her other hand. One side of her hiney is totally exposed and her plump booty cheek is so pinchable.

And then it hits me, she'll never remember Paige. Ever. She's too young.

The waves of grief wash over me again.

Paige loved our children so much. I don't know why. I can't explain it to other people, but she loved our kids BIG.

I hate using past tense verbs to describe her.

I hate that at least once a day I feel the urge to call her and see how she's doing and then I remember, she's the reason none of us are okay.


Does that even make sense? I feel the need to call her to see how she's dealing with all of this and then it occurs to me that she's not dealing with all of this.

It's crazy how much I miss her already. Under normal circumstances, I'd go a week without physically seeing her. I guess knowing I'll never see her face again, while on this earth, makes it hurt more quickly.

She was suppose to come visit us next summer in Africa and be our intern. She was suppose to take Ashlee out for special-time. She was suppose to be here today to celebrate Elizabeth's 8th birthday with us.

Instead, she's gone.

And what are we suppose to do now? My heart is so broken.

I want to call off going to Africa and to cling to a "normal life." I want to buy a house, establish our family in a good neighborhood and disciple our children, weaving Paige's memory through our days so we never forget.

I want to push forward toward Africa with fervency because I know obedience to God's calling was so important to Paige and we can honor her in that way. Besides, God hasn't changed His calling our lives.

I want to disciple another youth, watch them grow in the Lord and blossom into the person God created them to be.

I want to be sure we never get that close to another youth again because the hurt of this loss is too much to bear again.

My heart flips in my chest and tears sting my eyes.

Will our children remember her? Will I forget her?

I want her to be sitting on our couch, sharing a bag of peanut M&Ms with me as we talk about her upcoming semester at school, the funny things our kids said this week and theology that neither of us fully understand.

But that would be selfish. It would be selfish for God to answer that prayer because it would take her away from the feet of her Savior, out of the courts of the Most High, away from worshipping the One she devoted herself to daily.

I'm angry.

I'm sad.

I'm broken.

I'm worried.

She was in my day to day. I'd think of her and send her a quick text telling her so because I knew how much words of affirmation meant to her.

We'd planned to visit her at school this semester so that the kids could see all the snow.

If my flesh can ever stop grieving her loss, I know my heart would rejoice in the joy that I know she's experiencing. But my flesh is hurting.

Hurting for my own loss, for the loss of my children, for the loss of her family - her sisters, her brother, her dad, her mother. I'm hurting for the loss of her BFF. I wonder how I'd survive the loss of my own daughter, sister or BFF.

I yearn for a day when happiness prevails but I'm dreading the day I wake up and she's not the first thing on my mind.

I don't expect people to understand how a 30-something mother of 7 children grieves the loss of a 20 year old college student so much. To the world our relationship had to look crazy. But our hearts were knit together inexplicably.

She was more than a mentee, she was my friend. She challenged me, encouraged me and continued to point me to the Father. She was family while no official title could describe how she was related to us.

I miss my friend.

Our Savvy New Friends: Where chaos and understanding collide

Oh this blogging world, it's full of any and everything to tickle your fancy. Foodie blogs? Check. Organic, natural and no GMO foodie blogs? Double check.

Mommy blogs? Check.
Large family blogs? Check.
Small family blogs? Check.

So, imagine my surprise when about 3 years ago I stumbled across this blog. Kate and her Savvy Little Women (and one little man) have a life eerie similarity to our own.

Twins!

Picture in your mind a family with an eight year old, 2 six year olds, 2 nearly four year olds and one cute, chubby cheeked toddler.

Sound familiar?

Well, it's not The Beaver Bunch. I just described the Savvy Little Family...and, nearly our own as well. I think that internet formed friendships still have a stigma attached to them.

Only weird people who have no social skills make friends over the internet, right?

And only people who are begging to be kidnapped actually plan real life, in person meetings with people they meet on the internet, right?

From the moment I began reading Kate's blog I sat staring at the screen knowing she just got me. Someone else, in the trenches of mothering half a dozen little loves, living a creepily similar life to mine and living to tell about it.

Just last week, she wrote this post. Oh how I get that.

And on more than one occasion I've reminded myself just to Do The Next Thing.

And so many more of Kate's posts that I just don't have time to link up.

So when we planned our "vacation" west to see family and friends (and I use that term loosely because vacations usually involve toes deep in the sand or fresh mountain air and plenty of sleep and rest - and we had none of the aforementioned, thankyouverymuch).

Ahem, where was I? Oh yeah, our trip west.... it only made sense to see if there was a snowballs chance in a southern July if Kate and her crew could meet up with us. Since we're planning a departure to Kenya in January this might be our only chance for a very, very long time.

Turns out (as I'm sure you could tell from all the photos) we made it happen. And for 36 glorious hours Luke and I sat with Kate and Eric and "talked shop."

Our kids adored each other. They grouped themselves off and played to their hearts' content. I think it's not coincidence that they paired off in birth orders. It's like they knew too that families like us don't happen everyday and to embrace each other quickly.

Reese and Lucas, the 2nd born in both of our crews, hit it off

Elizabeth and Ella, sporting their new BFF bracelets

Ashlee and Charlotte (and Elizabeth), the 3rd born in each crew

Kinely and Aaron, 4th born

(It was way too hard to get pictures of Raya and Olivia. And Lincoln and Ella? FORGET IT.)

Kate was exactly what I expected from reading her blog - you know, except much taller - and we laughed like old friends well into the night.

Feeding times we're quite the spectacle. Next time, I vote we go for a feeding trough. ;)

The "big kids" enjoyed a slumber party on our second night. 7 kids piled into the floor on sleeping bags, making sweet memories and giggling until well past bed time - much to their mothers' preferences otherwise.

Sunday morning came quickly and we said tearful goodbyes to these new friends.

These people who simply, all around, get us. They understand the chaos, the brink of insanity where we live life, the mountains of dirty laundry, the endless refilling of sippy cups and snack bowls. These people who know that at the end of the day you worry whether you spent enough time with a certain child and you can't remember the last time you had a proper shower. These people who understand what it's like to be the oldest of 6 (or 7) siblings and what it means to be a twin that is the also the middle child. These people who live life in the trenches next to us, albeit several states away.

Somehow God saw fit to bring us into each others' lives through the internet and I am so very thankful that He did. I feel so bonded to my new friend Kate, through this chaos I call the everyday. I can now tell which one of her 1st set of twins is Reese and which one is Charlotte. She understands my hesitation with sharing too much on a blog and reaping the negative consequences. I get her desire to maintain order and control while I too fight the urge control every aspect of my children's lives.

And while we are each unique and different in our own God designed ways, Kate and I are beyond similar in almost every way. Luke and Eric understand the challenges they each face in fathering a brood of kids. I know there's another woman out there that I can text and simply say, "Three year olds drive me crazy" and I know she gets it, doesn't judge and will pray for me as only a mother to a posse can.

Internet friend turned real life friend. Those are words I never thought I'd type. In this big bad internet world where I am fiercely aware of the creepers and stalkers, I'm so thankful that the Lord saw fit to connect me with Kate.

Just one more family on the list that I will miss severely when we leave for Kenya. Praise God for skype. And praise God for the reassurance that I'm never, ever going through crazy, chaotic, large family life alone.

13 kids in all. Crazy, chaotic and beautiful.

Remember that time....?

I have at least 5 half-written posts drafted, waiting to be completed, edited and published. Unfortunately, I doubt I'll get around to them anytime soon. Life has been (blessedly) crazy over the last week.

On Wednesday, Luke came home from work at 11am. I can now count on 3 fingers the number of times in our 9.5 years of marriage that Luke has come home from work sick. I figured it was a virus so I stayed far, far away and silently praised Jesus that our children were already at the once-a-month Parent's Day Out at church.

I went and had lunch with some girlfriends, then came back to bring Luke anti-nausea meds, ginger ale and sprite before heading to the airport to meet some friends who were arriving.

When I checked on my man I knew it was something more than a virus. He was nearly grey and looked horrible. He complained of lower right abdominal pain. I quickly told him to get dressed then promptly drove him to the Emergency Room. Two hours later he was in surgery getting an appendectomy.

Praise God for good, reliable medicine!

While I was taking Luke to the hospital, the babysitter called and told me our van wouldn't start. On Saturday I jumped the van and took it to get a new battery. All seemed well until earlier today when it stalled out in my parents' driveway and refused to crank again. Currently, it's being towed to a local mechanic.

Our dog has fleas, despite regular flea medicine, and she's now brought them into our house. Before our van decided to die I ran to the Vet's office and got some spray. Sometime in the next 24 hours I need to spray everything in our house that is carpeted or covered in fabric.

Oh, and our kids can't be in that room for 2 hours following.

Remember that time our van was broken and we couldn't really go anywhere?

And last, but certainly not least, is the fact that we're going on a 11 day trip to see family and friends. And we leave this weekend. And I need to pack. But I can't lay clothes out on the floor and organize until I spray for fleas. Then I need to pack and load up the van.

Remember that time our van was in the shop?

Luke cannot lift more than 10lbs for the next 6 weeks due to his incision.

Remember that time we were going on a trip for 11 days and I had lots of bags packed that were over 10lbs?

Finally, we had a HUGE Fundraiser Yard Sale on Friday and Saturday. Our generous and faithful friends donated TONS AND TONS of good yard sale items for us to sale and use the money toward our outgoing expenses with Africa Inland Mission.

Remember that time Luke has surgery 2 days before a major fundraiser and couldn't lift more than 10lbs?

It's been an interesting 10 days to say the least. But friends and family have literally JUMPED into action and helped us in every way imaginable.

Remember that time we raised over $2,400 from a YARD SALE? Who does that?

God does!

Remember that time God was always faithful?

Oh yeah, that's yesterday, today and tomorrow. Praise God for His faithfulness. Even in surgeries, flea infestations, packing and vacations. Life is crazy but God is good.

And I'm eating milk chocolate chips straight from the bag. Sometimes, y'all, it's about survival.

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,

“therefore I will hope in him.”

(Lamentations 3:22-24 ESV)

Objects not obstacles: A mothering confession

In the early hours of Monday morning, my husband returned from a four day trip to Colorado. At which point I droggily blew my stinky morning breath in his face, kissed him somewhere in the vicinity of his lips and then slumped back into my pillow, grateful to have my husband - and subsequently - my normal life back.

He left supremely early Thursday morning to catch at 6am flight. So, with the wonderful help of grandmas, I was a single parent for 4 entire days. It's not a job I'd like to apply for anytime soon.

Typically, when my husband gets an extended break and I do not, I have duel emotions. While I'm thrilled that he's getting some time to recharge, somewhere in the recesses of my selfish heart I face each day with a countdown mentality. Only 92 more hours and then he's back, sort of thing.

But somewhere around Friday morning, amid the chaos and the noise of all of these blessings, I felt myself having a supernatural amount of patience. I'm sure we've all had spurts of that at some point but for me anyway, it has never lasted more than a few hours and then I bottom out like a ship in shallow water at low tide. I ride the waves of selfishness until, finally, I blow up at the kids over something trivial like opening a box of crackers or refilling a sippy cup.

But not this past weekend. Granted, I had much help from my Mom and Grandmother, but even still I felt different. I felt peaceful, patient, kind and even, dare I say, joyful to have all seven kids all by myself.

Trust me when I say that this is not the norm for me, y'all. Sure, I enjoy my kids immensely. I love being home with them all day and schooling them. I love their quirks, the funny things they say and how they give and receive hugs and kisses freely.

But by 5:30pm, I'm ready for my husband to walk through the door.

On Sunday morning, I cheerfully arose early and got all seven kids dressed, fed, hair combed, snacks packed and loaded into the van. Alone. And we got to church early y'all.

Last Sunday is proof that the Lord still works miracles people. Not because we were early for church, per se, but more because I didn't lose my mind (or my religion) before we got there. Sometime on Sunday evening, I sat in bewilderment at how and why I'd had so much patience, joy and cheerfulness over a long four days of what could have been stressful, annoying and down right ugly.

I felt the Lord press on me a truth that nearly knocked me over.

You see your children as an obstacle to your mothering.

Um, excuse me God? What?! How can my kids be an obstacle to my mothering? They're the reason I'm a mother!

He whispered in my soul...

Really? So the frustration at spilled drinks, messes, bottoms to wipe, loud chatter, you don't see those as an obstacle? I think you do.


Yeah. I guess I do. The truth is, instead of expecting my children to be, well, children I expected them to be less hassle. I had this expectation in my mind of what I should look like a mother, what our children should look like and how our days should flow seamlessly and when reality didn't meet my expectations, I lost control.

Yelling, frustration, angry words, unkind redirection, quick to anger, slow to show mercy...that pretty much sums up my mothering over the last several months.

I was seeing our children as an obstacle to my mothering instead of the objects of my motherly love.

The same was true for homeschooling. We use Sonlight curriculum which involves lots of reading on my part, as the teacher. As I would read or teach, the children were constantly stopping me asking questions, making comments and just generally being inquisitive. It frustrated me beyond what it should.

I slowly began to realize that we homeschool so that our children can interrupt the lesson and ask questions and their education can take on a personal form that allows for their interests to be explored.

I was viewing my own children as an obstacle to my homeschooling instead of the object of my teaching.

Then, on Sunday evening I got the heartbreaking news of a dear friend losing her unborn son. As my heart cried out to God on her behalf, I realized even more how much I should be treasuring these children God has given me rather than viewing them as distractions and obstacles.

Truly, my mind has been so focused on accomplishing tasks, getting our schooling done and all the things that come with motherhood that I lost sight of what is really important. Having a large family means that lots of things must work in a specific way for laundry, meals and everyday life to run smoothly. But those specifics should never be exchanged for discipling my kids, in every moment showing love, mercy, compassion and a genuine interest in things they are interested in.

I need to cherish my children and all of the frustrations that come with them.

Are there going to be days ahead where I lose it, get frustrated and make mistakes? Of course. Should I have expectations of my children and set boundaries? Without a doubt! But I was focusing on the tasks and not the people, which should never be the case.

Before I know it, these treasures of mine will be grown and graduating college and moving out to accomplish the lives and tasks the Lord has set before them. And I will have the joy of watching them from the sidelines as they do wonderful things for the glory of God. Until then, teaching them to love each other, love the Lord, serve Him faithfully, cheerfully and obediently is my goal. I pray that I never again see them as obstacles to my goal but rather, the objects of it.